The Marlborough umbrella stands upright <br />red and white falling in rhythmic triangles <br />of light across the top half of tight spiked cloth. <br />The shining brown handle counter poised <br />with the slender silver spire now pointing to the floor <br />casting its soft shadow against a powder blue wall. <br />Beside it the hard roundness of the fire extinguisher <br />with its arching curved black rubber hose <br />protruding from a beak like handle ready <br />ready to be launched into a fearful fight of flames <br />when sirens wail and bells clatter a sudden thrall <br />and still life is animated by a hidden hand of fate. <br />The umbrella too just sits and waits <br />one for fire and for the other rain must fall <br />to end the stillness in the dusty corner <br />where little moves except when needs do call.<br /><br />David Taylor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/still-life-13/
